


Witness

by AceQueenKing



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Family Drama, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Force Sensitivity, Gen, POV Second Person, Teenage Drama, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 00:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14273028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: You told Han, you never were the fatherly kind.But somehow, you wound up an uncle anyway.





	Witness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookykingdomstarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/gifts).



> Written for spookykingdomstarlight, you marvelous, kind, celestial creature. Hope you enjoy!

1.

You always told Han, you were never the fatherly type.

You’d talk about it sometimes, in the Good Old Days. You were both poor and hungry and you’d talk all about the dads who walked out on you, the moms who didn’t care. You’d talk about family and friendship and how what you had was better, but you could tell, even then, that it wasn’t true for him, that he always wanted more. And you got to hand it to him, he got it. He got the girl and the family and the - well, maybe not the dog and the yard but Chewie and the falcon is close enough, and you’re happy for him but you certainly don’t envy him. For you, freedom has always been the card you’ve prized above all others.

You weren’t the one that you thought he’d call when the news came through, about the baby, but he did. It’s hard to imagine, but you know Han has wanted this and so you’re happy about it, and even come to the birth because Han expects you to and you owe him enough to come, even if birth celebrations aren’t exactly your kind of scene.

“This is Ben,” he says, and he puts a baby into your arms like you’re supposed to know how to handle this _thing_. You don’t. Holding a baby is, _somehow_ , more terrifying than flying the old girl deep into the maw of the Death Star.

Leia laughs, and when you turn to glare at her she says, “I think this is the only time I’ve ever seen you look more lost than him,” and elbows Han in the ribs and you hear him mutter  _who’s lost_ but Leia is laughing and soon Han is too and little Ben, well, Ben is too young to do much more than gurgle, but it’s enough to make you relax - a little bit.

“Hello, Ben,” you say, and you smile. You were never the fatherly kind, but maybe you could work up to being an uncle.

* * *

 

2.

You would never admit it out loud, but: you had your doubts about Han. You never thought Han was going to be a good dad, but once again the old fox proved you wrong. You know these things go in cycles - the dad does wrong, the kid gets screwed up, kid swears he'll never be like his dad, the kid becomes a dad, the new dad is too screwed up to maintain a relationship with the new kid, new dad leaves and the cycle begins anew. You've seen it happen more than once, even to good people. Even to you. You've been burned enough to know people don't usually fall far from the family tree.

And yet with Han and Ben, you almost believe. Han saunters into your bimonthly Sabaac game wearing an honest to goodness _baby harness_ and somehow looks natural doing it, holding cards in one hand while playing with Ben on the other. Ben's a smart one too; Lando can tell the kids got his mom's intellect from the way he calmly stares out at them all, asking constant questions about what this piece or that piece means. He's either going to rule over you all or be a mean card-shark, and you're not sure which yet. 

"Kids going to be managing your bets for you soon, Solo," you say to quiet laughter from Han and Chewie both.

"Long as he keeps this winning streak going," Han says, affectionately booping Ben's nose as the kid frowns over Han's cards. You used to think kids would cramp your style, but Ben is so well behaved that none of you mind his presence. And the kid is growing,  _fast._ At your last game, he was an infant; now, he's a toddler, walking and talking and jabbering away. 

Aft an entire evening of shy looks at you, he takes advantage of the space between them, crawling into your lap. You could protest this, but you don't; Han is beaming at you with too much pride to even dare to mention that the kid is creasing your cape. 

" _Annnndo_ ," the kids says, in what he suspects is already an emerging chandrilan accent. "Whas that?" He points to a card.

You duck your head down, whistle suits and patterns in the kid's ear. You've never been the fatherly kind but you're getting to the point that you don't mind a toddler on your lap, as long as you can hand him back to han before any unfortunate leaks or spills occur.

"Don't fill his head with anything his mom's gonna take offense to now," Han says, winking. You can tell he enjoys this, the idea that you're just some big, happy family.

Chewie huffs that you both should just _bet_ already, but the mild rebuke is somewhat ruined by the big guy then immediately pulling a credit chip out of the kid's ear, much to his considerable amazement.

Not to be outdone, you pull a trick that's earned you many an admirer, shuffling cards into various shapes. Ben grabs one card, utterly enchanted, and you smirk at winning back the kid's attention, even if it ruins your one low pair. Wasn't like you were going to win that hand, anyway. 

 _Folding?_ Chewie asks, clearly amused. You just shrug.

Han grins and makes a quip about needing to have the kids hedge his bets more often, but Lando's smart-ass reply dies on his lips as Ben slowly grabs another card from his hand and moves the two cards in an imitation of a trick the kid shouldn't be able to do... Especially on the first try.

You freeze for a moment, realizing that those kinds of reflexes don't come from Han. Your eyes meet Han's and you know the old dogs sees what the kid's doing, but he just slowly shakes his head, so subtle a movement that Lando isn't even sure if Han meant to do it.

You nod back, deciding not to make a big deal out of it. It's not your place to say anything, so you don't, simply turning your attention to the game, while still watching Ben out of the corner of your eye.

* * *

 

3.

You've never been one to get between feuding spouses and for Leia Organa and Han Solo that rule goes _double_. Hell hath no fury like a Solo scorned and you almost feel worse for Ben than either parent. Ben, gawky and fourteen, now able to hold his own hand at Sabaac but rarely prone to smiling.

He's a quiet little boy in a house full of shouting. You've lived that role enough to know the kid has to be needing a touch of something _normal_.

Which is why when Han begs him to take the kid for a weekend, you don't even protest. Maybe Canto Blight isn’t the most kid-friendly place in the galaxy, but it’s remote enough and big enough that you're pretty sure the kid can at least slip by without getting much notice. Canto Blight hosts a lot of tables, and a humanoid kid is pretty bog standard there, even if one that can pick up signals from other people's minds as easily as the kid can _isn't_.

But, just like the last decade or so, you try not think about that much.

“Don’t hit,” you murmur in the kid’s ear; Ben, as per usual on your trip together so far, ignores you, flicking his eyes toward the others at the table: Lando isn't force-sensitive but even he can feel the anger coming off the Toydarian at his left, glowering into a drink, and neither of the Twileks on his right are exactly laughing it up either. Lando’s pretty sure the fact that they’ve won the last 10 hands of pazaak is the reason for the hostility. Ben doesn’t seem to notice, double tapping his fingers for another hit even though it’s statistically unwise; the counter glowers at him, a deathstick between his lips emitting smoke that you doubt is part of his regulation uniform. Maybe they won’t tell Leia about that, though you enjoy seeing it. Always love a rule breaker, you. The dealer looks at you, but addresses Ben: “Y-you s-s-s-ure, kid?”

Ben looks up at him with the desperate look of a man who wants nothing so much as to be believed. That's a simple enough wish for you to grant, and so you do.

“Yeah, hit him. I’ll cover his losses,” you say, and wink, though at the rate Ben’s been accumulating credits, you’re not so sure your bank account can quite cover it. You're pretty sure the kid has tripled his net worth since you landed here a couple hours ago.

Still, you catch the way your almost-nephew’s lips curve upwards, pleased with the trust, and you decide it’s worth it. Besides, you can always just add it to Han’s total, which, lord knows, he will never be able to pay back.

To no one’s surprise, Ben wins - and wins _big_. Your eyes widen a bit, even being the veteran you are, as the dealer counts out the credit chips - and then you decide maybe it’s enough for one day. The dealer hands you the chips, plus a little something extra - his number, written on the back of a card. He winks at you as he stutters, “Y-y-your chips,” and you flash him a winning smile and make a note to come back when you’re not on babysitting duty.

“C’mon,” you say, grabbing Ben's shoulder. “Time to go.” He flinches, this strange little boy, and you wonder if he’s getting picked on in school. You know Han and Leia couldn’t lay a finger on him, but it’s hard to imagine in a place as ritzy as Leia has sent him - you’re pretty sure Ben’s fancy school on Chandrila is one of the many reasons Han can’t afford to _ever_ pay Lando back when he gets in over his head in those bi-monthly poker games- has anything that might constitute a bully. Still, your heartstrings pull in a way that makes you subtly uncomfortable.

And Ben knows, he knows; that strange little boy hides his eyes. He doesn’t want to go home, and boy do you understand that. You’ll die before you go back to Socorro, and it’s not just family that keeps you away.

You tilt his chin up and smile.

“What I mean is, it’s time for dessert, I think,” you tell him. “Let’s go cash out these earnings and have some fun, huh?” You say, and he grins, the spell broken, and you silently give thanks that he’s a resilient kid.

“I’m sorry,” Ben says, quietly, into a bowl of triple-starburst lemon creme, a fluorescent flavor that you frankly wouldn’t have even thought would exist - and yet, all things are possible on Canto Blight. “I know I…messed up.” His forehead crinkles and you pat his arm.

“S ok,” you say, even though you know it’s _not_ , and that the kid’s gotta learn to hide that force sensitivity better. “You’ll get better at…hiding it.”

“What if I don’t _want_ to hide it?” Ben asks, looking at you, the expression unnaturally thoughtful for a fourteen-year-old.

“Well, we’ll talk about that later,” you say, frowning into your own slow-churned bourbon ice. That’s more a conversation for another day, for an actual parent. You’re not equipped for this; not you, who has always run from intimacy any deeper than skin-deep.

But you do decide you should talk to Han.

\- - -

Han doesn’t want to hear it.

You bring Ben back untouched, let Leia run and hug him and hold him and lead her sad, shy boy back to the Falcon's living quarters, trying to draw out Bens' adventures with probing questions only to be met with silence. You whisper to Han what Ben said and Han looks back like he’s been shot. You know it’s really bad when Han invites you back into the captain’s co-chair for a bit of smuggled brandy.

“Leia wants the kid to go to Luke,” Han says, in a voice so breathy quiet that it feels almost unnatural coming out of the old dog. You’ve never known Han to be anything but a loudmouth.

“Maybe she’s right,” you say, and you see a tear escape Han's eyes and you swallow your brandy and try to ignore the burn. You pat his shoulder and say your goodbyes, but Han’s weepy eyes in your ship’s cockpit haunt you for weeks.

* * *

 

4.

When Ben arrives at your door almost a year to the day later, hair wild, eyes wet, you don’t ask questions. You just open the door.

“Everything okay?” You say, even if you can tell just by looking at him that it _isn’t_. Like Han, the kid wears his emotions on his sleeves. He looks at you with wild eyes that make you feel like you’re being hunted; the atmosphere of your opulent apartment suddenly feels oppressive, small and uncomfortable.

“They want me to go to Uncle Luke!” The boy cries, his voice raw. “Guess I’m finally too much of an _embarrassment_ to them. To mother’s career.” His fingers fly out and grab an old card deck that Lando keeps on the shelf, throwing the cards out with the force into strange and unique constellations. You watch, transfixed; you've never held much interest in the old Jedi, but you’ve got to admit, it’s beautiful, watching the way the kid shapes them, different constellations of cards floating up around him. “I’m going to get exiled to the middle of nowhere with some uncle I’ve barely ever met and…” He scrunches his face up, the cards falling like rain onto Lando’s carpet. “It’s NOT fair! Mom and dad get these big, important jobs and all I ever get to do is screw up, according to them.”

“Hey,” you say, holding a hand out. The boy stares at you, anger on his face, with the barest hint of a wibbling chin that suggesting he might begin to cry at any moment. “Slow down. Let’s go to the kitchen, get you something to drink, and you explain it to me, okay?” You say, because you don’t know what to do, but you've always been a smooth talker, and maybe - just maybe - that'll be enough.

He shakes his head, one hand moving to delicately dab at a tear. “I don’t want to talk about it. Can’t I just stay here with you, Uncle Lando? I can - I can work, you know I’m _good_ with cards.” He picks up the deck, the cards spinning. “We could do quite well, and and - “

“You’re _fifteen_ , Ben,” You say, softly, and grab the cards away from him. “If that’s what you want in a couple years, sure, we can go set sail and see where the cards take us, but - I’m not going to kidnap a minor.”

“It’s not kidnapping if I want to go.” His face contorts in anger and you feel tendrils of discomfort worming around you, and you think: _Leia is right. The kid does need Luke_. The force presses against your throat, nipping in panic at your mind, and you think of Bespin and you shiver. No, you are not going to entertain that thought again.

“What’s Bespin?” Ben asks, his voice cold. You feel your eyes go wide in shock, your mouth drop open, but you’re too surprised to say anything, and Ben raises his eyebrows. The choking feeling grips you, icy-cold fingers swarming at your neck, a feeling you haven’t felt since - since -

“If you think I’m a monster, should I act like a monster?” He whispers, the grandiosity of the teenage angst lost in the sheer terror of your compressed trachea. “Why is _everyone_ afraid of me?”

“It’s not you, Ben, it’s - it’s _complicated_ ,” you manage to spit out, between ragged gasps. He drops you like it’s an afterthought, like - no, you don’t let yourself think of that, either. That's not your story to tell. 

“I don’t want to be a Jedi,” he says, so quietly that you almost don’t hear him. “Why do I have to change? What’s wrong with me the way I am?”

“Hey, it’s OK.” You hold out your arm and think about the little boy who could be distracted by ice cream just a year ago. The kid doesn’t come to you, and you don’t blame him, because you’re terrified of him. “Let’s just - let me call Han, okay? Let him know you’re okay.”

“No!” He says, sounding so much younger than he is. “Please just - can I sleep here, tonight?”

You nod, and let the kid curl up on your couch, sobbing to himself. You feel scummy doing it, but you call Han the second his breathing is deep enough you’re sure he’s not faking.

And when Luke comes to pick him up a few hours later, his eyes already tired, you try not to let yourself be torn up by Ben screaming how you’re a traitor.

“He’ll be okay,” Luke murmurs, clapping you on the shoulder, and you can only hope it’s true.

* * *

 

5.

He isn’t okay.

You try not to feel like your heart is ripped out by the fallout but it is; you’re not a father, but you _are_ an uncle, of sorts, and you see the cycle repeat itself in ways worse than you ever dreamed of. You see the Solos fall apart and you want, so badly, to hate Ben, to hate what he’s become and what he is.

But being family, you’ve found, even found family, means it is hard to let go. Maybe it’s not right, but you follow the kid anyway: there’s plenty of people willing to trade in information on the First Order for you, including that cute little dealer-cum-slicer on Canto Blight. Maybe it’s not right - and you never quite tell Han about it - but you do follow Ben, or Kylo, or whatever he chooses to call himself; his rise, Han’s fall. He wears a fetching silver and black high cape that you're pretty sure he styled after your own, and you're almost - _almost_ flattered. 

You try not to judge too much, even if you know, then, when Han is gone - that maybe even Leia won’t forgive him. And certainly, you see, from the Krait holos that leak onto the extranet - Luke didn’t either, in the end.

Well, you never did think that Jedi stuff would ever come to much, anyway. Never seemed to help the old republic much, either.

And then Ben - or Kylo Ren, the Supreme Leader, rather - _disappears_.

And you try not to be relieved and you try not to be worried but you’re both, and it burns you up inside, feeling the galaxy balance on the edge of a knife. You've never liked it when you didn’t know how to hedge your bets.

Still, you’re not entirely surprised when you hear a knock on your door and, somehow, there’s the kid again, soaking wet and swallowing. There’s a girl next to him - pretty thing, kind of reminds you of Leia - who holds his arm in a way that you’re not entirely sure if he’s her prisoner or her friend, but either way, Ben seems to be comfortable in her presence in a way you haven’t seen before.

You swallow.

“Can we stay here for a bit? Figure things out?” The kid asks, in a small and broken voice, and you shouldn't call him the kid anymore - he's older now than you were, back when you met Han, but he's still your nephew, of sorts, and you can't help but still see him as that gawky kid on Canto Blight, so long ago.

“Please?” The woman says; core accent, but there’s something about her that suggests that she’s more than that.

You stare at them both, knowing it’s less trouble to close the door on them, knowing that you could call a million different newscams and have a holo-crew there in seconds, and the authorities probably in minutes.

But, instead, you open the door wide, and steps away, let Ben and his friend walk through your door.

“The cards offer is still on the table,” you say, “if you want. But before that - we’ve got to get you a better cape.” You’re not sure why you say that, but the joke lightens the mood, just a bit. Ben's lips quirk into a sad smile for a split second, and even if it's gone after that, you saw it there, and you know it counts. 

“Maybe,” Ben says, and he sounds like death. “But I just - I need to rest.”

“Please,” the girl says, quietly. “Please?”

“Of course,” you find yourself saying. “Take all the time you need.”


End file.
